


Santa's (Really F*ckin' Big) Elf

by Batastic_Grayson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Santa, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Clark Kent is an Elf, Clark/Bruce - Freeform, Costumes, Domestic Fluff, Elevators, Feels, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Santa Kink, SuperBat, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 00:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batastic_Grayson/pseuds/Batastic_Grayson
Summary: Bruce has somehow gotten himself roped into being the Santa to Clark's Elf. It's terrible...until it isn't?





	Santa's (Really F*ckin' Big) Elf

**_Clark_ **

 

“This suit is itchy. And it smells like moldy crackers.” Bruce grumbles from behind an artificial beard, icy eyes shooting daggers at me. “Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Because you love me?”

Bruce narrows me with a grimace, crossing his arms tighter over his chest with a grunt. But still, he doesn’t argue.

His presence is a bit like a furnace next to me, a ball of untempered irritation and uncomfortable polyester. I can’t particularly blame him. I hadn’t exactly given him much of a choice when I’d damn near begged him to help me with the Christmas charity at the Daily Planet. Perry had tapped me to organize the event on a shoestring budget for the metro kids, one night only, and I’d thought Santa’s workshop would be a good idea. Of course, not very many people are willing to play Santa for six hours…for free.

Being the wonderful, charitable, handsome boyfriend he is, Bruce had been more than happy to help when I’d asked him to be my little elf. Well…okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. He’d actually laughed at me and then glowered for well over an hour as I bribed him with back rubs, food, chores…pretty much anything to tempt him. He’d finally caved when I squeezed out a tear and offered to kiss the ground he walks on, but only on the condition that _he_ would be Santa, not some “silly elf” and that I would owe him. Big time.

I have to admit, the red fluffy costume, puffy belly, and white beard actually suit him. I’d never tell him this, but he looks damned cute, glaring atop Santa’s throne with a grim sort of appeal. I’m sure if anyone from the League saw him like this, his whole reputation would be ruined for the rest of time. Then again, I’m the one wearing green tights and bells on my shoes, so I’m not exactly out of the woods yet either.

I elbow Bruce’s side as we watch the line starting to form in the Daily Planet lobby, still a bit surprised when I meet stuffing and not his usual lithe torso. “You know, I think Saint Nick might be a little bit more…jolly, don’t you?”

Bruce grunts again, but I can see his hands flexing on the arms of the chair nervously. The children in line are beginning to fuss impatiently, and I can see eyes are swooping to the clock. Only a few minutes until we open the gates and Jimmy starts funneling children to Santa’s lap.

Bruce looks a bit pale beneath the beard when he frowns. “Why did you even let me agree to this, Clark? You know I’m not…good with children.”

I lift a brow, chuckling, “You have four kids, Bruce. I think that makes you uniquely qualified.”

“I’m uniquely qualified to handle _my_ kids, exactly.”

I sigh and nudge him lightly. Very reluctant eyes sweep up to mine, but they eventually meet me all the same, “You’ll be fine! The kids are gonna love you, okay? You’re Santa! Just smile and pretend you love it too.”

When he still doesn’t look convinced, I wind my fingers with his briefly, offering a small squeeze through his mittens. I lower my voice, “Plus, I did promise you a back rub when we get home remember? And you know I’m a _killer_ masseur.”

That sparks a bit of interest in his eyes, like an ember just barely leaping to life, and he lifts a brow ever so slightly. I think I catch just the hint of a smile when he murmurs, “It better be a _damn_ good massage.”

I offer a smirk, “Careful what you wish for, Santa.”

If I thought we were being playful, maybe a bit flirty, Bruce goes right for the jugular. The scathing look he gives me from over that fuzzy white beard is definitely not G-rated, and it’s enough to make me a bit quivery in the knees. He has that effect on me sometimes. Like I’m half-jello, half-man around him. I think he enjoys the power a little too much, because he exercises it frequently. Even now, I can see that it pleases him how I melt to putty under his gaze, because he chuckles.

It’s the first real sign of enjoyment all evening, and it does me good to hear it. I relax even a bit more when Jimmy starts shuffling kids to us a few minutes later and Bruce puts on a genuinely good Santa. He ho-ho-hos, he grins, he pinches cheeks, he smiles for pictures. He’s the perfect model of Saint Nick, and even when those eyes occasionally dart to me as if to say _I hate this,_ I can tell he’s only being partly honest. Bruce loves kids, and he loves Christmas.

And, besides all that, he loves me. He would do just about anything to help me, because that’s just how he shows his love. It’s a truth that warms my chest significantly every time it crosses my mind, and it’s especially hard to ignore tonight, even if I wanted to. Though he may be a man of few words, Bruce speaks with his actions. If he sacrifices for you, he loves you. Tonight? A big sacrifice. A lot of love.

I smile to myself, listening to Bruce give another emphatic ho-ho-ho. I’m just about the luckiest guy on planet earth right now.

 

**_Bruce_ **

****

It ends up being seven hours of playing Santa for the masses before we’re freed from the torture. The last kids shuffle out at close to nine o’clock, clutching fistfuls of candy canes and ‘reindeer treats’ as they leave through the lobby doors. It’s an indescribable relief when Jimmy locks the doors behind them and I don’t have to smile anymore. It’s probably the most I’ve smiled in the past three years, and my cheeks are aching beneath the smelly beard.

I climb out of the chair with a groan, plucking the cap off of my head as Clark and I begin shuffling for the elevators to the parking garage. I begin peeling off layers, unbuttoning the jacket, letting the thick belt hang loose from my waist as we walk through vacant hallways.

Clark chuckles at the display, lifting a brow, “Glad that’s over?”

I pull down the beard under my chin, rubbing at my itchy jaw, “God, yes. So fucking glad.” I move to scratch at my scalp vigorously, sighing with pleasure now that the sweaty hat is dangling from my pocket instead of suffocating me. “I was starting to have visions of stroking out from the heat of this thing.”

I prod at the stuffing jammed into my t-shirt beneath the Santa suit, and Clark laughs outright now. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles that widely. “What, you don’t like the belly? I think it’s kinda cute.”

I scoff, “Cute? I look like I haven’t seen the inside of a gym in a decade.”

“Aw, don’t be cruel to poor Santa. He works hard.”

I lift a brow, snorting, “He also subsists solely on cookies and milk. It’s no wonder the guy has a paunch.”

Clark pokes at my stomach teasingly, expression warm when he mutters, “Might be you some day, tough guy. You do loooove those cookies…”

I narrow him with a scowl, “Never.”

Clark shrugs both shoulders, “What? You can’t picture it? Hit your seventies, start indulging a little bit, eating what you like…it happens to the best of us.”

My expression must be dour enough to signal my disbelief in this little imagined future, because Clark laughs again, bumping shoulders with me. “Alright, or you’ll just keep your washboard abs into your silver years. I’m not complaining either way, as long as I still get to touch.” He wiggles his brows meaningfully, moving ahead of me to get the elevator button.

That comment earns him a little bit of grace in my book, enough at least to erase the frown I was wearing, and I give a simple hum in acknowledgement. It wasn’t too long ago that we were just friends, toeing the lines of what was proper and what was _more_. It’s still a bit strange sometimes to talk so openly about physical affection for me…like I’m still not sure this is actually happening, or if I’m just in some fever dream where Clark and I are lovers. Part of me is a bit terrified I’ll wake up one day and it will have been imagined. We’ll go back to being friends, and I’ll have to put all this behind me.

But then I catch myself watching Clark as he walks ahead of me, admiring how…charming he looks in that little elf costume, jingly shoes and all, and my stomach fills with liquid heat. I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone before, like the push and pull of desire is elemental to my DNA. Instinctual. Definitive. One might even dare to say, destined.

Even if this were a dream…I don’t think I could ever go back. I’ve seen too much, felt too much, to return to the way it was before. It would break me if I tried.

Thankfully, this is all very real. I’m reminded of that when Clark falls back to my side again and winds his fingers with mine tightly. We stop at the elevators, waiting for the doors to open with the perfunctory ding. Clark’s voice is low, his smile tentative when he murmurs, “You know, I’m really glad you agreed to help me, Bruce. It…means a lot to me.”

I inhale a sigh, and even though I can still feel the sweat of that stupid Santa costume clinging to me like a second skin, I have to admit that I feel good. I feel warm and leisurely. Happy.

I raise our joined hands to my lips, brushing a kiss along his rough knuckles easily. “I know.”

Clark blinks at me, his eyes wide and so blue they could be clear pools of water. But that’s just the way he is. Pure and clean and bright. Mine. He nods slightly, his hand tightening on mine, “Well, still…you didn’t have to, so…thank you.”

We stare at one another, and the air between us inches a few degrees warmer. There’s a brief second where I consider leaning into kiss him, because it would be a nice way to say how I feel without speaking, but I settle on just pressing my shoulder to his more closely. There’s time for that later. Besides, I was promised a killer massage after all.

I’m definitely looking forward to that.

The elevator dings open after a moment of this and we step inside with our hands still joined between us. It’s a few seconds of muted Christmas carols and the smell of cinnamon air freshener before anything really happens. Clark leans forward quietly, and as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he presses the emergency stop button. The elevator halts, suspended a few stories above the parking garage, leaving us standing near toe to toe in a little metal box.

If I wasn’t sure what Clark planned at first, I am most definitely aware of his designs when he turns back to me with eyes dark as navy. It isn’t but three more seconds before he’s closed the distance between us, taken my face firmly between both palms, and is kissing the hell out of me. I crumple back into the elevator wall at the unexpected contact, pleasantly surprised when he deepens the kiss momentarily and pushes both hands into my hair with a possessive hum. I near sigh at the sheer pleasure of it. He smells like hot chocolate and tastes like peppermint and feels like warm fire against me.

I feel my hands gripping his shirtfront without my permission, asking for more. Pretty soon, my fingers are inching to that holly garland belt, picking for release from the buckle, and Clark’s hands are well on their way to unclothing me as well. We’re a bit like two sparks meeting a bit of gasoline. We can’t help but to burst into flames.

I’m enjoying this contact so much, that I’m incredibly disappointed when Clark pulls back from me abruptly and leans his forehead against mine, now breathing heavily. I was seriously reconsidering my ‘no public nudity’ rule in favor of having it out right here in this elevator.

I’m still pressed tightly into the elevator wall beneath him, my Santa jacket loose. My shirt came untucked at some point in our little tryst, and the stuffing from my stomach has fallen at our feet.

I blink at him, my voice sounding husky and out of breath. “What the hell was that for?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” Clark smiles lightly, eyes still dark with intent. His breath is sweet with candy canes when it brushes my lips. “And plus…I told you I liked the belly.”

We break into laughter at that, and I lean my head back against the elevator wall as we do. Clark’s arms are braced around me still, trapping me in a half embrace, but I don’t mind. I’m still warm from the kiss, and my limbs are singing for more. It’s only laughter and self-control that’s keeping me from insisting we continue.

When the laughter subsides and Clark lets me off the wall, we stoop to collect the padding from the floor with subdued smiles. I stuff the cotton back into my shirt, giving Clark an arched brow as I lean around him to revive the elevator. It jolts around us with a hum, and Jingle Bell Rock murmurs somewhere from a hidden speaker again.

The quiet stretches for a moment between us, comfortable, until I bump his shoulder with mine, “Just because you pulled this little stunt, don’t think you’re off the hook Mr. Elf. I expect my back rub still.”

He grins, complexion looking especially ruddy from the _stunt_ , “Oh I know, I know. It’ll be worth the wait, I promise.”

I lift a teasing brow, smirking, “It better be. That was a hell of a buildup back there.”

When the doors open to the parking garage, we’ve wound our hands together again, and I pull him after me as we head for the car. I’ve never been quite so happy to be wearing itchy polyester as I am right about now.

**Author's Note:**

> First published superbat work, but they're definitely one of my favorite ships. Christmas is also my favorite holiday, so it felt like a match made it heaven. :)
> 
> I do not own DC or their characters. I do own this story! Thanks for reading.


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